The Box
by BLAID DRWG
Summary: My Doctor, My Doctor. That's what she says, the box. It's a warning...to me. Rated M for some themes.


Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, or the Doctor, or the TARDIS, or Time-Lords, or the Beeb. Oui? This is an undescribed companion to an undescribed Doctor. Let your imagination bring it to the point of view of whomever you like. But I warm you, you may want to think about it before you read. Quite carefully.

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It takes a while to really, take in all of this. The greatness of the ship. And the sheer madness of it. It's not just that it's alien, no, no, alien is the least of the problems. Or it might be the most. I'm not sure. Nothing's certain on the TARDIS. Time And Relative Dimensions In Space. Quite a queer name for a queer ship. I've asked the Doctor about it, and all he says is that 'Susan named her'. Her? Yes, it's alive. She's not quiet either. Hums, clicks, an odd vibration, you can feel always if you just stand still. Gives me the willies.

But enough about what she looks like, the 'police box'. The real situation is: How do I get out?

We've been mindlessly traveling back and forth so drolly, we haven't touched ground in days, weeks, perhaps two? You can never tell with this machine. Time...stands still within the TARDIS, and it drives me absolutely mad. I've looked, no clocks, anywhere. The Doctor has even scolded me for asking for one so many a time, saying something about 'impatient humans' and then muttering on to himself. And he's always working with the ship, under the console, in some off-the-beaten-path room, gone for hours on end tweeking things and leaving me to my own device.

For the first while everything was fine, wonderful in fact. Traveling, meeting aliens and going back and forth in time as though it were simply a door to step through, brilliant! But the time has slowed down, there is neither day nor night in the TARDIS, and no proper clocks, it's nearly driven me to insanity. But I cannot be insane, absolutely not! Would an insane man know he was insane? Surely not! That's how I assured myself. My room had grown bland, the bed kept always made and the area around tidy, only in a rage to mess it up merely so I'd be able to do it again. It became a pattern, consistent and boring. For god knows how long I worked in that room, every book on the shelf in reach read, every nook and cranny explored in that room. Many, many, meaningless things I've done, and soon it felt cramped.

I took to wandering the halls, up and down, back and forth, but wherever I went there was a dead-end, ever turn led to an empty corridor. With so many rooms, you'd think it would be endless. But it wasn't. They all led to the control room, whenever I tried to get away, as far away from that humming central as possible, I'd come back. They changed, I felt, as the time went on. The TARDIS was playing with me, leaving me dazed and confused in some hall somewhere, or racing back from where I'd come, only to reach a dead end. The anxiety was killing. When I did sleep (which wasn't often), there were odd dreams. So transparent and simple, yet as soon as I began to feel normal again, when I was drifting closer and closer into the warm, caressing dream, I awoke. It was the TARDIS, it made some kind of, hum, or a buzz, whatever it was, it woke me. It always did.

The worst possible thing was, I could never tell ANYONE! The Doctor? No, no, I couldn't! Never! His beloved, precious ship, oh, how he'd croon at her like she was his lover! To say such would send him into a rage, no matter what mood he was in, and he'd surely think me crazy! That I was being preyed upon, by a ship? He'd never believe me!

The TARDIS knows she's won this game. And now, writing this with my own hand, I believe I know why. Even hum seemed to have a possessive tone, every beep and ring, every flickering light a warning to me. My Doctor, My Doctor. Was this, this, thing jealous of me? At the first opportunity, I'd be gone! If I was allowed I'd go back down home and leave the dreadful box and NEVER set eyes on it again! It kills me to write it, because of everything I've seen. The grandness of it all! Every alien planet and historical event! Yet, I loath this box with every fiber of my being!

But it wasn't that easy, I found. It was growing ever harder to have a talk with the Doctor, every chance I saw him he would mutter an apology at being so busy, saying that the TARDIS was acting strangely and he'd be working on it for a while. 'Never fear!' He would exclaim, 'We'll be back on course soon!'

He said that every morning (or at least I assumed it was), and afterwards I'd give a smile, wish him luck, and with a bundle of wires and his trusty Sonic Screwdriver in his hand, he'd go off. I feared for him, that the TARDIS would simply swallow him up in a room and never let me see him again. I made careful never to close doors in the ship, lest I be stuck there forever. But it would never do that, her Time-lord, her master, she'd never let him see displeasure. Yet, she was making herself ill, unrepairable by most standards it seems, but why? Then it came to me...She wanted me to leave, but she didn't want me to go home. She wanted to be rid of me...

...permanently.

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End file.
